


A Routine Enquiry

by DoesntMakeYouAGenius



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-10 00:43:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2004306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoesntMakeYouAGenius/pseuds/DoesntMakeYouAGenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morse goes to interview a suspect over a case involving a murdered young woman. From there, chaos ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Routine Enquiry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chard23 (TheNerdHerdIsComing)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNerdHerdIsComing/gifts).



> This is my first work in the Endeavour fandom, though I have loved the show since the very beginning. The fanfic has been read through, but not officially beta'd, so all errors and inconsistencies are mine, and mine alone.  
> Enjoy!

Morse set down his pen, resting his chin on his hand. There had to be something they were missing, there were too many inconsistencies in the statements the police had taken. It looked like the whole community was involved, and Morse wasn't ruling that possibility out for even a second.

The case centred on a young woman, Andrea Kidminster, whose body had washed up battered, bloody, and bruised on the bank of the river Cherwell. Morse's stomach had turned at the sight of the corpse, disfigured as it was.

The girl had been reported missing two days previously, and Dr Debryn put her time of death as within the last day or two. He said it was difficult to tell, as the water of the river had affected the start of decomposition, but it could have been no earlier than three days prior to the discovery of her body.

The force had immediately taken statements from friends and family, and before they had to look any deeper, things started looking suspicious.

Several people had false alibis, and had then amended their statements, claiming they had "forgotten" where they had been, or "got confused".

Furthermore, Morse had around ten suspect files on his desk, all with equal opportunity and means. Some of the interviewees had been ruled out immediately, but presently Morse was struggling to narrow the remainder any further.

He had to go and talk to some of them again; there were definitely some shifty characters involved with this case. Reviewing the statements one more time, he decided to visit the man on the top of his pile. It was as good a place as any to start.

Mr Gordon Thomas explained in his statement that he was a long-standing friend of the Kidminster family, and that Andrea was like a second daughter to him, though they were not actually related by blood. The fact that her body had been found almost on his doorstep raised suspicion on him, though he vehemently denied any connection.

Morse stood. "I'm going to talk to a suspect, Gordon Thomas, in relation to the Kidminster case." He relayed to Jakes, grabbing his coat on his way out. "I left the files on my desk."

Morse left the station, breathing in the fresh spring air, a brief respite from the smokiness of the indoors. The temperature was just beginning to rise at this time of year, but it wasn't yet warm enough for him to leave without his coat. Regardless, he had it slung over one arm before his short walk to the residence of his first interviewee was over.

He strolled up the path, admiring the well kept garden and neat hedgerows. Mr Thomas was evidently a very neat person. 

From the file, Morse had gleaned that Mr Thomas had been married to Mrs Alice Thomas for four years, before her death in childbirth barely a year before.

Before her death, Alice had had three healthy children: Henry, Scott, and Agatha. The children lived in various places across the country, the nearest being the youngest, Agatha, whose current residence was listed as an area in southern Gloucester.

The door to the house was warm, welcoming, a bright red with floral patterning in the frosted glass window. 

Morse knocked twice, crisply, on the door, and was more than a little startled when it shifted open on the second knock. He nudged it further, trying to discern whether it had been left open by accident, or if something darker had occurred within. 

The door creaked ominously, revealing a doormat, but little else.

"Mr Thomas?" He called into the silent cottage. "The door is open, sir."

Receiving no reply, Morse pushed the door open wider and stepped cautiously inside.

***

"Where's Morse?" Thursday burst through the door of the station, taking in Morse's empty seat and Jakes' relaxed posture. 

"Said he was going to see someone, related to that Kidminster murder, I think." Jakes spoke around a cigarette held loosely between his lips.

"Who? Who's he gone to see?" Thursday was worried, the new advance they'd made had highlighted one man as their most likely killer. He prayed that wasn't who Morse had gone to interview.

"Gordon something? I can't quite remember. Began with a 't', I think."

"Thomas? Gordon Thomas?" The urgency in Thursday's voice must have got to Jakes, as he sat upright and removed the cigarette from his mouth.

"That's the one." He replied. "Definitely."

Thursday cursed under his breath. The man's file was still open on Morse's desk; he quickly checked the address and headed for the door.

Jakes jumped to his feet and set off in pursuit. "What is it, sir?"

"The man who is presently alone with Morse is almost certainly the same man who killed the Kidminster girl." Thursday spoke through clenched teeth. "It turns out that Andrea Kidminster is the illegitimate child of Gordon Thomas and Charlotte Kidminster, and Charlotte had informed her daughter of this fact when she turned twenty one, twelve days ago. She said she thought her daughter would be able to handle the news, but it would seem that Andrea instead came to Oxford with the intention of confronting her true father."

"So he killed her. Why? To protect his reputation?" 

"At the moment, we can assume so. We'll try to squeeze a confession and explanation out of him back at the nick, but we need to get to him first. Morse has no idea he's gone to interview our most likely murderer, remember."

"Shall I get the car?" Jakes asked as they left the station.

"No. It's close enough, we'll run."

***

Morse pushed the door out of the way, and walked tentatively down the hallway. There were no signs of a struggle, but Morse was considering the possibility of a surprise attack, which would leave very little trace.

After entering the house, he hadn't called out, not wanting to alert a possible assailant. He edged into the kitchen and became aware that another person was on the other side of the door. He could see their shadow and hear their breathing, despite their best attempts to conceal it. 

The figure inched closer to the light, and Morse tensed, prepared for an attack. As the unknown person stepped out, Morse lunged backwards to a safer position, heart thundering in his chest. He breathed out a rush of air as he realised that the stranger was none other than Gordon Thomas himself.

"Mr Thomas, sir. Thank goodness. Your door was open..." Morse turned around to gesture over his shoulder, and heard the whistle of something coming towards his head at high speed.

He ducked instinctively, and managed to avoid the brunt of a potentially fatal blow. However, the instrument tore across his neck and white hot pain exploded at the back of his head, leaving him reeling and rendering him unable to try to defend himself. Blindly, Morse backed up quickly, crashing into his assailant and toppling them both over. 

The weapon clanged on the floor, a long crowbar appearing in the corner of Morse's vision. Thomas quickly retrieved his weapon, regaining his senses and scrambling to his feet much faster than Morse could, with his head screaming furiously and leaving him dizzy and disorientated.

The crowbar came down with considerable force and connected with Morse's shoulder, burying itself in muscle with a wet thunk. Morse howled, rolling away as the crowbar was torn out of his limb.

He tried to stand, but his head was spinning and his hands slipped in the blood that was pooling from his arm and head on the floor. He managed to get onto all fours before he was struck again.

The second blow was from the blunt end of the crowbar, brought into contact with his head like a golf club; swung down from a great height and followed through, snapping his head to one side. Blood sprayed from the open wound on Morse's head, splattering across the pristine white tiles, and blackness fringed his vision as he tipped onto his side.

As the blunt instrument came down again, Morse curled up, protecting his head from blow after blow raining down on his arms, his hands, his back. There was no point trying to disarm Thomas, he was weakened and any attempt would leave his head exposed to the sharp-edged hammer blow that would surely come.

Crying out in pure agony, Morse tried to shut the pain out, tried to ignore the warm, wet feeling of too much blood between his fingers. The onslaught continued, thankfully Thomas hadn't landed any further hits to Morse's head, but he felt the sharp end of the crowbar lodge in his back, coming away again with a stomach-churning sound like tearing fabric.

The final blow Morse was aware of landed on his left shoulder blade, emitting a grating, crunching sound. Morse screamed anew, then mercifully succumbed to the darkness that flowed like blood from the edges of his eyesight to cover his whole vision.

***

Jakes arrived at the Thomas house just before Thursday. As he exploded through the door, Thomas leaped over Morse and took off, heading out through the back door. Jakes was then accosted by vast amounts of blood, spattered on the hall carpet, smeared on the walls, and staining the tiles in the kitchen beyond. Morse was curled, almost unrecognisable through his savage wounds, on his side, head tucked close to his chest.

Thursday arrived seconds later. "Check if Morse is alive. I'm going after the bastard." 

Jakes just nodded as Thursday took off after the sadistic maniac who had acted so brutally against Morse. He knelt beside the curled body, gently easing him over to get a better look at his injuries. There was one ripping wound to the back of his head, seeping blood at an alarming rate, and the entire right side of his face was blackening rapidly. On top of that, there were twenty or so deep gouges in his back, soaking his coat and clothes underneath in blood, and his arms were cut to ribbons. 

Jakes hunted in the surprisingly normal lounge for a telephone, dialling for an ambulance with urgency weighing heavy in his voice.

He hoped his boss knew who he was chasing.

***

Thursday launched himself at the tall man who had killed the young Kidminster girl, stopping him dead in his escape attempt and sending them both sprawling. They had barely left the back garden, trapped in a narrow alleyway just outside with very little room for manoeuvre.

Thursday had to act fast, swinging a right hook that left Thomas reeling, before he could put up an offence of his own. Thursday then cut in again before he could regain control of all his faculties. 

Thomas, disorientated, didn't know how to fight back. He was of superior size to Thursday, but had no chance to get a punch in. Instead, somewhat blearily, he swung his meaty arm around, making contact by pure luck. Provided with a little time to recover, he was able to bring his head down at high speed, making contact with Thursday's nose and drawing a howl from the detective.

Thursday returned the favour, sending a lightning fast punch straight into Thomas nose, which gave with a satisfying crunch. Thursday's nose was bleeding, but it wasn't broken due to the fact that Thomas' headbutt had glanced off the mark. It was still causing Thursday significant pain and had drawn tears to his eyes, which he shook away, hurriedly.

Swinging in a quick right hook, Thursday knocked the bigger man to the floor, where he brought a knee into the murderer's chin. Thomas keeled over, unconscious. 

Clicking handcuffs into place, Thursday dragged the killer back to the house, dumping him unceremoniously in the dining room, then jogged back to where they had found Morse, wiping his nose with a handkerchief as he went. 

Morse had come to, and Jakes was talking to him in hushed tones. Thursday squatted beside the young constable, studying his injuries. He looked awful.

"You're alright, Morse. Help is here." The ambulance had pulled up outside as Thursday had run back, and two men started loading Morse onto a stretcher. Morse reached out to grip Thursday's arm, though it clearly caused him intense pain.

"Sir-routine-didn't-armed-sorry-nose?" Morse strung his words together, not quite a sentence, but his meaning was clear.

"You're fine." Thursday repeated. "It's not your fault, I know it was a routine enquiry, and my nose will be fine, now be off with you." He smiled at the last part, and he thought Morse gave a small smile in return, but then he was stretchered away.

Thursday rode in the ambulance with Morse, leaving Jakes to explain the turn of events and hand Thomas over to the backup.

Morse blacked out again early on in the ambulance journey, and didn't wake up until much later, swathed in white and resting in hospital. Thursday sat by his side, patiently waiting, as he had for the past five and a half hours. Morse looked ten times better with all the blood washed off him, in a clean set of clothes, looking marginally more comfortable than he had on the floor of the Thomas cottage, but half of his face was a deep shade of blueish black.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Morse." Thursday began, smiling from Morse's bedside. "You were starting to worry me."

"I'm sorry, sir." Morse's voice scratched at his throat; it felt like he had swallowed sandpaper.

"What are you sorry for? You went for a routine interview, and you were assaulted, injured badly before you could fight back. That's what the nurse said, anyway. Said the nasty bugger must have taken you by surprise to have dealt you these sorts of wounds, so stop your apologising."

"Sorry, sir."

Thursday rolled his eyes but didn't comment further. "You'll have to stay in here for a while, but I imagine you'll have some visitors to make it more comfortable for you. Win will want to see you, that's for sure. Treats you like her own son, does that woman."

"I appreciate it, sir, but please don't go to any trouble." Morse pleaded.

"Trouble? It'd be more trouble trying to stop her." Thursday smiled. "But don't you worry. For now you can try to get some sleep, we can sort everything out in the morning."

Morse just nodded, his sharp mind still not quite right. Thursday reclined back in his seat as Morse's eyes fluttered closed again.


End file.
